Realizations
by Mikey Parkas
Summary: Ch. 5 is up. House spills the beans, er, the coffee...literally. R & R.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: The folks in this story do not belong to me, unfortunately. They are the creations of the good people of the Fox network. But ya'll know that.

I haven't written anything in a very long time, so I can only hope that this isn't too bad. Please R & R. Enjoy.

The urgent shrieking of the heart monitor seemed to be the only sound left in the entire hospital, and had momentarily frozen three of the four doctors in the room. The patient, something of a John Doe who had gone largely unidentified for the past four days, had a calm look of repose about himself, as though he knew that the black man holding the defibrillator paddles would try again, this time with positive results. His lax facial muscles gave an appearance of utter oblivion. He was oblivious to the fact that Dr. Foreman had already used the paddles over forty times with the same morbid outcome; oblivious to the fact that his heart could no longer beat unaided; oblivious to the fact that his brain was unable to control his body any more; oblivious to the fact that in a few short moments, his life would be over. The once steady beeps of the monitor that marked each beat of his heart began to lose their consistency, coming later and later, until they were finally replaced by the high-pitched whine that signified heart failure. A flatline. Death. The surprisingly sudden death of Dr. House's patient. It was unclear as to whether the other doctors in the room were shocked more by the death itself, or by the realization that House had been unable to prevent it.

Three heads snapped around as one to face the monitor when the empty screeching was abruptly cut off. Their eyes came to rest on the hand of Dr. Chase as it slowly drifted away from the machine's OFF switch. The fair-faced young doctor looked grimly to House, waiting for him to call it. House frowned in what could easily have been interpreted as simple annoyance, swallowed, glanced down at his watch, and managed to grind out, "Time of death, fifteen forty six." With that, he spun angrily around on his cane and left the room, calling over his shoulder, "Clean him up", knowing that they would comply. They always did.

The air outside in the hallway felt much cooler than that of the tiny exam room. Perhaps it was simply the excess of life that seemed to move around House so freely as he made his way wearily to the elevators. Inside the room, he had known from the start that they were going to lose the patient, and that knowledge had seemed to thicken the air before House, Cameron, Chase and Foreman had even begun to work up a sweat trying to save the man. The elevator "dinged" softly, and House got on, sighing slightly with the doors as they closed. He tried to ignore the quiet music floating from the background that was mocking him, vowing silently to fore a memo from Cuddy banning all facets of happiness within the hospital whenever a patient died. Of course, he had to remind himself that that happened almost everyday.

House was glad when he could finally get off the mocking elevator and start to limp his way down the hall towards his office. It was hard to fathom just how calm and unaffected he felt after losing his patient. Two floors up, a life had just come to a violently messy ending. Over the last four days and nights, House had even almost begun to like the guy. _Almost._ He had quite possibly been the happiest, most content bum House had ever treated. When the guy had been admitted to PPTH with a sudden and rather mysterious onset of limb paralysis, he hadn't been worried in the least. Calling himself simply Eddie, he'd done nothing during the countless tests that he was administered but talk about his fabulous "home" and his many, many friends. And while his home didn't sound like much, House had to admit that the man seemed to have been blessed with countless friends. They had gotten the idea that Eddie had risen to some level of leadership and respect amongst a sad following of derelicts and junkies. House shook his head, walking into his office. He hadn't liked Eddie. He had admired him.

The lights inside the office were off, and House elected to leave them that way. Setting his cane down on his desk, he began to collect items and haphazardly throw them into his bag. He would take home Eddie's file, along with a half-dozen other assorted odds and ends that he didn't need belt felt somehow reassured by, and go over every last detail of the case. It wasn't like he doubted himself or thought that he might have made some fatal error. It was simply curiosity, along with that all too familiar and agonizing frustration that came with his inability to diagnose Eddie. Many doctors might simply have bagged and tagged Eddie and had some anonymous nurse wheel him on down to the morgue to never be given so much as another thought. He would have been buried before the grave had even been dug, or rather before a cemetery ad even been selected. Why should anyone care about his death, more or less what had been the cause of it? They shouldn't. House did.

Unable to locate one of his texts, House heaved his second sigh of the afternoon and let himself melt into his chair. It was only a little after four o'clock, but he was more than ready to go. However, he knew Cuddy would have his ass if he skipped out early; he had three hours of clinic duty beginning at five, but as far as Cuddy was aware, he was still breaking his neck over Eddie's case. Not wanting to give her a reason to come screaming after him, he pulled out the case file and began to scrutinize it.

The door to the office quietly swung open and more of the hallway's cool air flowed in, followed by Dr. Cameron. House didn't look up at her. He knew that her face would be sad and pale, and her brown eyes would look as if the slightest breeze might shatter them, dropping thousands of tiny crystalline tears to the floor, and at that particular moment he wasn't in the mood to sweep up the mess. Ignoring her, he continued to study the charts, waiting for the words that he knew would come.

"Are you okay?" They were quiet and somewhat timid, and House could easily detect the sadness and concern behind them. And he had to admit that they sounded ridiculous coming from Cameron, the one person who was probably the most upset over Eddie's death.

He finally looked up at her and spoke, trying not to sound too harsh, but knowing tat he did. "I'm surprised that you're not still upstairs sitting with the body and holding its hand."

She shrugged, brushing a long strand of brown hair away from her face. Or maybe it had been a tear. House could never tell these things with Cameron. "You know its not your fault, right?" she asked him with just a little bit too much concern in her voice.

Cocking his head slightly to one side, House allowed that one to sink in before answering. It would always be beyond him just why Cameron spent so much of her time and energy trying to keep other people from being upset. She was rarely, if ever, successful.

"Of course I do." House answered his rising annoyance more than evident in his voice. He was angry over what had happened, but at the same time, he found something bitterly ironic in Eddie's situation. "But then, hey! You never know." He got to his feet and leered at her. "It could have been. Something I gave him could have caused the cardiac arrest. Or some drug that he took two weeks ago could have caused it. Or maybe Foreman or Chase accidentally _sneezed_ on him. So I suppose I can't really say at this moment what killed dear old Eddie, but if it will make you happy, lets just pin it on Chase for now. He has no conscience, so I doubt that it'll bother him too much. Happy?" He spat these last words out sarcastically. For all House cared, it could be his own fault. He just was not anywhere close to the mood that he would need to be in in order to finish this discussion. Cameron looked at him, a mixture of disgust and confusion on her face.

"How can you joke around like this? Eddie may not have been some rich white guy willing to donate millions to the hospital…"

"Oh, I'm betting you're right about that."

"…but he _was_ human and I'd expect even _you_ to show him a little respect. Or any kind of emotion really." She was angry with him now. The concern that had been in her voice only moments before had completely evaporated, leaving behind only dry, abrasive sand that she now used to try and hurt him. "But no, I come down here thinking that you might actually give a crap about someone other than yourself, and what do I find? You, being an ass just like always. Why can't you pretend just for a minute that Eddie's death might…I don't know, bother you? Can't you for one moment give him some respect, or, or…" She turned away, searching for her answer somewhere out in the hospital's parking lot. "Or dignity or…" Slowly and sadly, she faced him again. "…remorse? Sadness?"

The force with which House's cane came slamming up onto the desk surprised even him. Ignoring the look of fear that had so quickly washed over Cameron's face, he took a step towards her, venting all of the pent up rage that the last few days had given him. "Remorse? I don't have _time_ to be sad about some junkie that I didn't know. He's dead, and it's because I couldn't find out what was wrong with him fast enough to save his life. So yes! I am bothered by it, but it happens. We lose patients all the time in this damn hospital, and there's a reason for every one of their deaths. Right now, I'm _bothered_ because I don't have an explanation for Eddie. I tried everything and he's still lying upstairs dead, and I _do_ give a damn about it, but I don't have time to go around doctor to doctor crying on everybody's shoulder over it like you" he was yelling, and he knew it was scaring Cameron, but he was way past caring. "They don't pay me for that. They pay me to fix people. If they didn't, I wouldn't be going home tonight with the damn case file to study and figure out just why in the hell I couldn't fix him!"

House turned angrily back to his desk to finish packing his stuff, expecting Cameron to go storming from his office, upset and angry because he was an insensitive bastard. She'd probably tell Wilson who, consequently, could confront House and demand to know why he was "so mean" to the girl. However, he truly did not give a damn, and he didn't give a damn about Cuddy not getting to see his shining face in the clinic this at five. She could assign him as many extra hours as she damn well pleased, but he sure as hell wasn't goin-

"We."

Squinting his eyes in tremendous annoyance, his torrent of angry thoughts interrupted, he looked behind him to find Cameron still standing there, arms crossed. He rolled his eyes, struggling to remain patient with her. He couldn't understand why she wasn't letting this go. "Why are you still here?" He demanded. "Yelling usually indicated things like, oh I don't know, anger, unhappiness, you name it. When your boss fusses at you, you're supposed to take the hint and"

"You said _you_ couldn't fix him. _You_ couldn't help Eddie. You meant _we_."

House was silent. Maybe if he tried ignoring her again she would go away and leave him be, although he somehow doubted it very highly.

"House, you're not Superman. Eddie died this afternoon because none of us could hit the right diagnosis. You aren't the only doctor in this hospital, believe it or not." While her words were meant to be kind, House couldn't help but feel like Cameron was still berating him for something. She still had that accusing glare in her eyes, and her posture suggested that she was still incredibly incensed with him.

Zipping his bag shut, house gave her a dark look. "I should be." He muttered more to himself than Cameron. Hoisting the backpack, now heavy with books and other things, he didn't even look at her as he passed her on his way out, but he did say, "Go home Cameron. Go sob into your pillow. Call a girlfriend, tell her all about it. Eat ice cream and watch a Lifetime movie. Whatever. Just do something, for God sakes." As house pushed through the door, he heard her call after him, "I don't think that I'm the one who need to do "something"." He pretended not to hear it, letting the door glide quietly shut behind him. However, truth be told, House had heard her words louder and clearer than perhaps anything he has heard in is entire life.

He just didn't know what they meant.

As the door came to a gentle stop within its glass frame, Cameron had half a mind to run out after House and shake him. Or slap him. Or do anything that might knock some amount of sense into his head. Closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath, she tried to understand, or rather to simply accept the knotted up ball of emotions, if that was indeed what they were, that dwelled somewhere in the convoluted mind of Greg House. She blew the air out much more violently than she had perhaps intended and crossed the room to take the seat behind his desk. The urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake until she got tired and he started to act human began to fade, and was replaced by her own momentarily tangled knot of emotions. Cameron idly toyed with the over-sized pink and gray tennis ball that had somehow earned itself a full-time position on the desk, thinking. It was certainly rare to see one of House's patients die. While his methods were classified all too often as "unconventional" and "dangerous", one had to admit that the mortality they produced was outstanding. But the whole time that they had been treating Eddie, his disease had always been several steps ahead of them. If it had been so frustrating as to rub Chase the wrong way, Cameron knew that it must have been maddening for House. And the fact that Eddie and House seemed to have developed some kind of semi-friendly rapport made it all worse. Of all the patients that House could have been civil to, he had picked the one that died. Cameron felt certain now that he'd be even more reluctant to see patients face to face than before.

She blew out another sigh and tried to focus on something other than her frustration with House. She swiveled the chair around and let her eyes run over the countless volumes of medical dictionaries and journals that House kept close at hand. Deep in thought, Cameron stared at the various titles and vaguely wondered if the cure for Eddie's unknown disease might be found in one. It was highly unlikely though, as House would have brought the most likely candidates home with him to study.

The door behind her opened, and for one very brief moment she thought that maybe House had returned. But in turning around, Cameron had to admit to herself that she was much happier to see Wilson come walking in. He stopped in front of the desk and gave Cameron a weary smile which seemed to fade away as he spoke.

"I'm sorry about Eddie. Foreman told me just a few minutes ago."

Putting the tennis ball back on the desk, Cameron sank back into the chair and shrugged. "His disease was progressing too fast for us to keep up with. There wasn't much we could do for the guy."

Wilson pulled o wry face and took the seat opposite Cameron and House's desk. He looked thoughtfully towards the ceiling, searching for some words of wisdom for the younger doctor. At a loss, he simply sighed and said, "That really blows." It got a small smile out of Cameron, which was good enough he supposed. But almost an instant later it disappeared, to be replaced by a frown. "How do you stand it?" she asked.

"What?" he asked back, confused.

She leaned across the desk towards him, toying again with the tennis ball. "You're an oncologist. At least half of your patients are more than likely going to die. The only thing that you can do is buy them a little more time and try to make them comfortable. So, how do you stand it?"

Seeing where she was going, Wilson thought a moment before answering. "I guess I just try to find peace in the fact that because I gave a patient three more months, they got to spend it with their families. When they die, it doesn't come as such a shock." He could tell this didn't satisfy Cameron, but it was the best he could do. He was slightly surprised. Cameron may have been young, but she certainly wasn't inexperienced. By now she had to have learned how to cope with death, or at least as well as a doctor could. Changing the subject, he looked around the room and then over into the adjoining one.

"Where's House?"

Cameron's expression immediately darkened, and she crossed her arms irately. "He packed up his stuff and left. Said he was going home." She stated matter of fact, as though it were a crime.

"Then maybe he went home" Wilson suggested, beginning to feel uneasy. It was evident that she was angry with House for something. He should have realized that from the start.

Standing up, Cameron walked over to the window and looked out at the rain. She hoped House was getting thoroughly soaked riding his motorcycle out in the downpour. It didn't appear as if she had heard Wilson's comment.

"I swear he must be the most infuriating man on this planet."

Careful to remain neutral, Wilson offered, "Yes. He could be…the Earth's a pretty big place though."

Cameron gave him a look that wasn't quite as angry as the last one. "Yeah, I know. Still, he just got his stuff and walked out. It was like Eddie didn't even matter to him." She sat back down, looking as confused as Wilson had ever seen her. "I don't understand how he can do that after what happened. If it had been me, I'd have stayed and figured out what went wrong or…or…something."

Wilson sat forward and managed to look confused, worried and incredulous all at once. "Wait. You're not suggesting that House should stick around feeling guilty and taking the blame, are you? It's not his fault Eddie died."

"No! I'm just saying that he didn't seem to feel anything at all." She thought a moment. "Or at least not at first. I mean, when I came in here it was like he had forgotten the whole thing. Then he got mad and started ranting about how _he_ couldn't diagnose Eddie and _he_ couldn't save him and _he_ couldn't figure out the problem. I'm saying that House really sounded like he thought it was all his fault. He thinks he killed the guy."

Wilson frowned. "So are you upset that he didn't react, or that when he did he took all the blame?" He was now completely baffled by Cameron's train of logic. But he also knew her to be very insightful to human behaviour, especially when it came to House. Wilson had known House since med school, but at times it seemed like Cameron was the only one who diffuse the mess of wires in the man's head.

"I'm not upset." She explained. "It just worries me a little I guess." She looked tired and her hair had taken on that stringy quality that suggested a long, hard day had passed. "House pretended not to give a damn more than he usually does, then he snapped and basically said that he feels extremely guilty about Eddie."

After a moment's contemplation, Wilson replied. "I see what you mean." Although he wasn't as clear on the matter s he would have liked to be. "You think House feels like Eddie's death is his fault, which is unusual."

Cameron just looked at Wilson for a moment as if he was unbelievably thick, then nodded. "It's just not the normal reaction we see coming from him, that's all."

"Well _normally_, his patients don't go into sudden cardiac arrest and die."

"I know that. But normally he accepts the fact that some unknown condition killed them. Like I said, with Eddie, House is going around acting like he did it."

They were both silent then for a few minutes, deep in their own thoughts. Cameron was concluding that House, for some strange reason, had been more affected by Eddie's death than the deaths of other patients while Wilson was thinking that although House may have gotten closer to a case than he usually might and gotten bad results, this was just Cameron over analyzing things, constantly looking for someone to fix. All the same, her description of House's reaction did seem a little off, therefore making her concerns somewhat valid. He sighed, standing to leave. He had patients.

"Look. I'll talk to House. If you're right and he's riding himself about this thing, I'll make him see some sense. If you're wrong, well…" He didn't finish, as he wasn't sure what the other option might be. Cameron nodded understandingly. "Thanks." Wilson pulled a wry face, walking out.

"Anytime."


	2. Chapter 2

While Cameron and Wilson had been having their discussion, House had been having his own fun; that is, if it could really be called fun.

The bar he has chosen was not one he frequented often, or rather not at all any more. In fact, he could only ever remember being there once or twice before. Resting against the bar, he tried to remember. He was almost certain that he had been in there with Stacy, some time years ago when they had been able to say that they loved each other. Some vague memory of a first or second date flickered briefly through his mind, only to be quickly dismissed by the bitterness that the alcohol was beginning to activate.

House personally did not consider himself a bitter man. At least not bitter to the extremes that he had witnessed throughout his career. Lonely? Yes, maybe just a little bit. But definitely not bitter. Downing the latest shot of bourbon, he let this thought settle in his mind. His loneliness certainly didn't bother him, or so he tried to convince himself. He had friends, and albeit their relationship was not all up to par, he had family. Thinking back to the day Eddie had first presented in the ER, House couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, which was quickly followed by an even sharper pang of shame; jealousy for the lowly vagrant's fortune in friends, and shame for envying someone so pathetic. And Eddie had indeed been quite pathetic, the more House thought about it. He had lived, more or less, out of a box, or whatever the homeless made their sad structures from. And the "friends" he had spoken of so endearingly now seemed to House to be no more than sniveling street junkies, desperate for the attention that anyone was willing to give. The more he thought about it, Eddie was just as lonely and pathetic as the rest of them. He had just been a bit more popular. Perhaps it was his carefree and overly trusting ways. That was his flaw: easy acceptance. He had accepted anyone into his life who would so much as speak to him and call them friend.

Then why, House wondered, was he feeling as though he had robbed a man of so much? It wasn't as though Eddie had anything good coming to him. He had only more cold nights and starving days to look forward to.

House signaled to the barkeep that he wanted another one, and took a slow look around the room. Back when he and Stacy had been there together, it has actually been a decent establishment. But that had been years ago. Things changed. It was dark and gloomy inside now, dark enough to hide the grime that coated the tables. He wondered absent-mindedly if sitting at one of them could be considered a health hazard. Shaking that thought from his head, he decided that for the next thirteen hours or so until morning he wouldn't think at all about anything health or medical related. He wasn't so stupid as to believe that Eddie's death had been his own fault. These things happened, much as House hated to admit it. Greg House, the almighty God of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, had been defeated. By what, House could not yet say. But it irked him, enough so to ruin all of his plans for a night of anonymous drinking out on the town that surely would have ended with Wilson showing up to haul his drunk ass home.

Leaving a wad of bills on the bar, he stood and made his way out. He stepped out into the cool night and began to walk. His leg was sore as hell, like always, but it seemed like a good night for a long walk and lots of thinking. It was fall, and it was dark, but even House couldn't help but notice how beautiful the leaves on the trees were getting. Or maybe it was the amount of alcohol he had consumed that caused him to notice. At the moment, they reminded him of Cameron – her hazel eyes, her dark auburn hair, and the crimson blouse she wore sometimes. He didn't know why he should be reminded of Cameron right now. She had confronted him and accused him of being completely insensitive. He wasn't angry with her. If House was angry at anyone, it was himself. He had been practicing as a doctor for years and had solved cases far more complex than Eddie's. Cameron had been right. He did need to do something. What, he didn't know. So he kept walking, the people passing by becoming fewer and fewer as the city went to sleep. And then there was no one. Just House, alone with his thoughts.

He didn't know what time it was. He had arrived at the bar by five o'clock. By then, the rain had stopped. When he had left, it was a little after seven, and he figured that he had been walking now for a good three or more hours. House found that he had arrived at the entrance to a park in the suburban part of town. It was dark and there was no one around. By now, most people were in bed. It was only Tuesday night after all, so it wasn't like other nights, when there were sure to be young people out gallivanting and having a good time.

Walking through the park, House was glad for the solitude. Spotting a bench, he made his way to it and sat down. He hadn't noticed it while he was walking, but his leg was killing him. That would teach him to spend three hours strolling around. Pulling his bottle of vicodin out, he popped one of the little white pills into his mouth and swallowed, hoping that it would kick in soon. He was beginning to wish that he hadn't left his bike back at the bar. It would be a long walk back. Luckily, he wasn't in any great hurry.

The wind was starting to pick up a little, and House pulled his jacket closed. He wondered if Eddie had ever spent a night in this park, maybe even sleeping on the same bench. It must have been a hard life. He had to consider the fact that maybe Eddie was better off dead. He wouldn't have to spend any more cold nights outdoors, wondering how he'd get his next meal while he shivered. But somehow, House doubted that Eddie had ever looked forward to the secure and peaceful sleep that came with death.

He wasn't dismissing the death as what was for the best. That would be insensitive. House didn't think he was insensitive. Just straight forward. Maybe his manner seemed rude, even mean, to some people. But he couldn't help it. It made him sick to see the way some people, like Cameron, liked to dwell on awful things. Life was so much easier when you just accepted things and moved on.

_But you haven't accepted things._

"Oh, shut up." House said aloud to the voice in is head. He knew it was his conscience, and he wished he could silence it. However, he knew that those were his own thoughts, as much as it pained him to admit it. He hadn't moved on. When he had lost his leg, not to mention Stacy, he had lost his ability to do that. He let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed a hand over his jaw line, feeling the stubble that had become a permanent part of his character. He was tired. It had been a long day, and all the walking hadn't done much to relax him. But try as he might, he couldn't get his mind to stop telling him what a screw up he was. Eddie's death was just the latest in a long line of mistakes that he had made, and he couldn't seem to move past it.

Cameron had wondered why he didn't seem to feel affected by Eddie. She was wrong. He had been deeply touched by it. Pathetic as he had decided Eddie was, there was something about him that House had liked, or at least appreciated. The man must have been around forty years old, and he had never accomplished a single thing in his life. House remembered Eddie telling him about dropping out of college, pissing off his parents, and taking to the streets. At first, he had stayed with friends. But as they died one by one of drug overdoses or STDs, he had been left alone, no home, no more friends. Eddie had embraced his life as a homeless junkie, building a whole network of equally pathetic friends. And he had lived that way for years now, completely happy. It didn't make much sense to House. How could anyone be happy living that way?

_You just don't believe in happiness anymore._

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" His voice spread through the park for nobody to hear, then died. It was absurd. Of course he wanted to be happy. Hell, he was happy. He had a good job, made good money, had friends… House had to stop himself on that last one. He knew it was true that he didn't really have friends, except for Wilson, and Wilson only just barely tolerated him. Foreman respected him and looked up to him just a little bit. Chase, on the other hand, seemed to avoid him at all costs. House didn't know if the Aussie feared him, or his temper, or he just plain didn't like him. Cameron was the only one who openly cared about him. He couldn't begin to understand why when he kept pushing her away and making it more than evident that their relationship would never be more than professional.

But all these things didn't have to mean that he was unhappy. Sitting there on the bench alone, House was beginning to understand why Eddie's death had bothered him so much. It wasn't guilt about not being able to help him. It was something deeper, something darker that it had brought to light. Eddie, who had never amounted to anything in his life but had been happy, got to die and finally be at peace while House, a successful and accomplished doctor, had to go on living and being miserable.

This realization shocked House momentarily. He had to shake his head a few times, telling himself that that was a stupid thought. It didn't make sense. Just because life wasn't as grand as he'd once thought it could be didn't mean that he wanted to end it. He knew for a fact that he didn't have the willpower to do it anyway. Leaning back and popping another vicodin, he tried to forget that he had ever had that thought. It had been stupid, and he knew it must have been a combination of the alcohol and painkillers that had made him think it. House was content with his life. He didn't need or want anything that he didn't already have.

_That's a lie, and you know it House._

He stood up abruptly, feeling more than aggravated at the little voice. _Fine, _he thought to himself_. I don't have to sit here all night listening to my mind spout bullshit. _House began walking out of the park the way he came. He knew that what he needed was sleep. That would keep his damn conscience quiet. After all, he had been up since six. Leaving the park, he began to walk up the deserted street. He hesitated a moment, trying to decide which was closer, the bar or his house. Deciding that his own house was closer, he started to walk in the general direction of it. There was no point in hurrying. It was already past midnight, and he would be lucky to get home by two thirty or three o'clock. By that time, there would be almost no point in going to bed. He'd have to get up three hours later anyway. That was when he remembered Eddie's file. He still felt a huge obligation to look it over. "Dammit.", he muttered, and turned around. His backpack was with his bike, back at the bar. Cursing himself for being so careless, he tried to pick up the pace.

The alcohol that House had consumed three hours ago had all been burned away. He was sober, and he didn't like it. The trees on either side of the street didn't look so pretty anymore. Instead of Cameron, all the reds and browns reminded him of Eddie's final moments, when he had choked on and coughed up his own blood. And again, he wondered about the homeless man, and how many times he had looked at those trees and been reminded of something. They had probably all been good memories, him being such a happy guy and all. House walked faster and faster, as fast as his aching leg would allow him to go. The houses on either side of him looked dark and foreboding, and in the alleys between every one of them, House couldn't stop himself from thinking about what it would be like to live in some box down one of them. _Seriously, _he wondered, _how in the hell could anyone be happy living that way?_ It still wasn't making sense to him.

The wind was getting stronger, and House could smell rain in the air again. _Great._ He tried to go even faster, for all the good it did. He cursed the fact that there was never a cab to be seen when he needed one, which was hardly ever. So, blocking out all thoughts about Eddie or happiness, he continued to walk as the rain began to fall, feeling strangely disturbed at his own thoughts.

By the time the bar was in sight, it was after three am, or rather, closer to four. The rain was coming down lighter, but House had become thoroughly soaked long ago. The cool air combined with the fast pace he had started out on caused his leg to burn with pain. He had slowed down considerably because of it and was now at a painfully slow limp. Seeing his bike parked on next to the sidewalk up ahead, he managed to walk towards it a little faster. Stopping in front of it, he closed his eyes in exhausted relief. The tricks that his mind had been playing on him in the dark had caused him to feel deeply paranoid, and he was glad to finally be somewhere familiar. House felt as though he had been a different person from the time he had left the bar until now, his time of return, what with his increasing feelings of guilt and paranoia, not to mention his vague thoughts on suicide.

_Hey, we're forgetting we ever thought that, remember?_ He had to remind himself not to think about it…it was out of character, not like him at all.

Climbing painfully onto the bike, he gunned the engine and took off in the direction of his home, the scenery passing by in one long, merciful blur, allowing his mind to more or less zone out. He let habit direct him to his home, focusing solely on the mindless task of steering the bike. At the park, his own thoughts had rattled him, and he no longer trusted himself to think for fear of what feelings might surface.

Upon reaching his destination, he very quickly and stiffly picked up his bag and walked up the steps to his door, his mind locked in automatic for the time being. He entered and closed the door behind him, feeling a wave of fatigue wash over him. Reminding himself where he was, he finally began to relax, feeling as though the last few hours had never happened. House was home now. He was himself again. He was where he belonged. In the morning, he would get up and go to the hospital, Cameron would have given up whatever useless crusade she had been on, and he would go on with the business of treating patients, forgetting that he had ever let a patient's death bother him. Totally beat, he threw himself happily at his sofa, letting his body sink contently into the cushions, all the stress and anxiousness of a long day beginning to melt away. A faint beep alerted him to the unwanted presence of a message on his answering machine. Normally, he would have ignored it for several days, but House was presently feeling the strangely atypical need for human contact. Dragging his sore, stiff leg behind him, he made his way to the machine and pushed the playback button.

"House, dammit it, pick up the phone…" It was Wilson. "C'mon, stop being an ass and just pick up the damn phone….Ok. Have it your way. Cameron was worried, so I told her I'd talk to you, and while leaving a message won't count with her, this is as far as I'm taking it. Look," a sigh was more than audible over the machine, and Wilson sounded both frustrated and aggravated. "Just apologize for whatever stupid thing you said to her. It'll make my life a lot easier if I don't have to spend any more time mediated between the two of you." There was an angry click, and Wilson had hung up.

House smiled, mildly amused by Wilson. He always managed to sound mad, when House knew for a fact that he wasn't. He may have been weary with the problems that were often associated with having House for a best friend, but he certainly was past being bothered by them. They simply brought frivolous tidbits of drama into days that had become, over many years of practice, dull routine. Wilson tried to ignore them, but finding that to be impossible, he instead feigned annoyance. However, it went to show how committed he was to House that he never just got tired of all the negativity that followed the man and ended their friendship. He didn't need House, and vice versa, but their genuine fondness of each other overrode any thoughts of resigning the friendship.

House felt half an urge to call the man back, but realizing the time, decided not to. Instead, he went back to the couch with his book bag. It was now four o'clock and he didn't see the point in going to sleep. Deciding he didn't want to face Eddie's file alone, he went to the kitchen for reinforcements, that kind that came in a bottle. An old coffee mug sufficed as a vessel, and House began to flip through the charts with the help of Jack Daniels. He had already spent hours reviewing every last detail, but that had been before he had killed Eddie, when time had definitely been of the essence and there had been little time for thought and reflection. Sure, they had been able to carry out their usual ritual of differential diagnosis, but time had gotten way ahead of them, and the luxury of being able to recline on one's sofa with a bottle of booze hadn't been affordable. But there was no rush now. Eddie had met his end before anyone had arrived at any conclusions, and now House had all the time in the world to muse over the file. And he did, forgetting for the time that all of these test results and histories related to Eddie. For the next two hours, the only movements House made were to flip the occasional page or to pour more liquor.

Halfway through the jumble of diagrams and test orders, he frowned and set the folder down on the table, puzzled. As far as House had been able to tell so far, there had been explanations for every one of Eddie's one million symptoms. The proper treatments had been given, yet still he had deteriorated. Every time that they had been able to treat something, something else got worse. It was almost as if the more they tried to help, the sicker the man got. It was maddening for House, and he was becoming increasingly perturbed by it. He knew that every case wouldn't be by the book. In fact, most of his were the cases that defied all of the traditional explanations. But this was just too much. Eddie hadn't been _that_ sick. He had been paraplegic, but other than that, he had claimed that he felt fine. Never better.

The VCR clock said that it was six fifteen, so feeling stumped and more than tired and just a little drunk, House wearily made his way to his room and his closet. He was too tired to go through the whole ordeal of taking a shower. It had rained on him enough the previous night anyway. He shivered while he peeled out of his old clothes, wishing that he had changed into something dry when he had first come home. He found a clean t-shirt and blue jeans and put them on, along with a blazer. Not concerned with his appearance, House didn't even bother to brush his teeth or even run a comb through his hair before leaving. Home wasn't the place to be right now. He grabbed the file from the table and threw it back into his bag before hurrying out the door. Some manic urge had overtaken him after looking at the file, his continued failed attempts at solving the case causing him a sort of nervous desperation. Just as it had the day before, Eddie's death and the unsolvable aura surrounding it made no sense to House. He was a man of science and provable facts, so needless to say, a "cause of death: unknown" did not sit too well with him. He needed to know. A remote feeling of general wrongness was beginning to work its way forward into his upset and sleep deprived consciousness. Wrongness in the sense that Eddie wasn't supposed to die. Of course, it was all triggered by the alcohol and lack of sleep, and some strange, indescribable chain reaction in his brain that had begun with his contrast of himself and Eddie, and ended with him wondering that maybe if anyone should be dead, it was him. At any rate, House needed answers, answers that he couldn't find on his own. He hopped onto his motorcycle and set off for the hospital, hoping that Wilson would be in early.

TBC.

Please, please, _please_, R & R. I would really appreciate any advice or opinions on these first two chapters, as I can't tell from my overly biased point of view whether or not I am succeeding in at least being coherent…I am paranoid that this isn't making sense to anyone but me; I have trouble getting my point across sometimes. Seriously, if it sucks, PLEASE tell me. I'm willing to trade jello for honest opinions. Really. Any flavor you want – red, green, or lemon – I can make anything. Tks.

- A. D.


	3. Chapter 3

My sincere thanks to those who offered their comments on chapters one and two. Jello is on the way to all, except for Gaze and AtreidesHeir, who get chocolate and a boiled egg, respectively. Thanks.

CHAPTER THREE

The fifth floor of Princeton Plainsboro hospital was pretty empty, with the exception of the occasional nurse, on their way to check on a patient or deliver a sample to the lab. House would have thought that there would be more doctors on the floor, the oncology ward being one of the busier parts of the hospital and cancer being such a serious illness. But it was, after all, six thirty something in the morning, and many doctors didn't come in until nine. Or they were all shut away in their offices, pretending to be too busy studying x-rays and lab results because actually having to see cancer patients and attend to them was just plain depressing. Or at least, that's what House chose to believe.

Arriving at a plain door with the words "Dr. James Wilson, M.D., Oncology", he tried the doorknob, before violently pounding on the door with his cane. "Wilson, you better be in there. Wilson? Open up!" A passing nurse slowed down to stare worriedly at him. House gave her what he believed to be a charming smile and explained "He's my boyfriend, we're having a fight." The nurse nodded in understanding, although House could tell she didn't. But she moved on, leaving him to his barrage on Wilson's office door.

"Jimmy, your wife left you! Your cancer kids got the miracle cure, all of them! Cuddy's having a baby, right now! C'mon, open up!" He kept banging with a force that might have eventually broken his cane. But there was still silence, and House could only accept the fact that Wilson was not in yet. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he punched in the number and waited for the man to pick up. When he did, his voice was hoarse and faint, indicating to House that he had only just woken up.

"Mmm…Wilson here."

"Wilson, you need to get here now."

His voice came back more alert, concerned. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Where are you at?"

"I'm at the hospital you moron."

Wilson became immediately anxious. "Is there an emergency? Is it one of my patients?"

"Do you really think that if something happened to one of your patients I would be calling you? Don't you think one of the nurses would page you?"

There was a slight pause on the other side, and House could almost hear Wilson's mind trying to wake up. He let himself feel guilty for waking up his friend so early for less than a second, then got back to his reason for calling.

"Look, just get over here, as soon as you can."

"I'd be happier if I knew why." He sounded skeptical. It wouldn't have been the first time that House had rudely inconvenienced him for his own needs.

"Yeah, and I'd be happier if hookers worked for free. Just get your ass over here. It's important." He hung up then, knowing that Wilson would show up in the next half hour or so.

In the meantime, House wandered back to his own office. It was locked and dark, and upon opening it, he could swear that there was still a big black cloud hanging in it leftover from his and Cameron's argument the day before. Once again, he didn't bother with the lights, but walked into the adjoining conference room and began the process of making coffee. He was feeling surprisingly chipper for someone who had been up all the previous night. His ride into work had energized him mentally. Once again, he had set his mind on automatic and let his body do the driving, while he reflected on simple things, like the coolness of the morning air against his body, and the mist that was rising, and the way the rising sun was reflected in the puddles leftover from the rain. He had still been slightly inebriated, which explained a lot, seeing as how House usually did not take notice of nature, beauty and the like.

The coffee stopped percolating, and he poured himself a cup, eagerly anticipating the slight rush the caffeine would give him. His leg throbbed slightly, reminding him to take his meds, which he did, washing his vicodin down with a bit of coffee. His head began to clear immediately, and he set about the task at hand, the task of discovering what he'd done wrong with Eddie.

House didn't feel like being in his own office, so he broke out his files and charts and books on the conference room table, spreading them before him as thought they were maps that would eventually lead him to some treasure, or rather the answer to Eddie's case. He was still feeling angry with Cameron, although he didn't know why. He had, in fact, anticipated being over it yesterday. But now, just thinking about it irritated him, the way she had tried so hard to prove him wrong and try to change him. It wasn't her business at all how he reacted to something like a patient death, and whether he chose to completely forget about it, or go into mourning over it, was his choice. House didn't intend to do either of those things. He did, however, intend to re-examine every step of Eddie's treatments in order to discover what he had done wrong.

He had been so engrossed in his studying that almost forty five minutes passed without him noticing. Through the blinds, he heard his office door open, and assumed it was Wilson.

"What the hell took you so long?" he shouted, looking at his watch.

Chase walked in, looking slightly bemused, in addition to slightly amused. "Well, the shower water took a little longer than usual to warm up this morning, but I'm actually a little early today by my watch…" he tried to answer, but House glared at him and he shut up.

"Funny." He turned his attention back to the charts. "I don't guess you brought Wilson with you, did you?" he asked sarcastically.

Chase arched one perfectly shaped blonde eyebrow and responded, still slightly confused. "Uh, no. Why?"

"That's for me to know. It grownup business, so you stay out of it." House went on, not even looking at Chase, who shrugged and walked over to the counter to pour his own coffee. He wandered over to the table, standing silently behind House and looking over his shoulder at the charts on the table.

"Eddie's file? What are you looking for in there?"

House whirled around, annoyed. "I'm pretty sure I told you this was grownup business, didn't I?"

Chase's expression turned to one of slight surprise. "You need Wilson here for this? We ruled out all forms of cancer, and the"

"No, I'm not thinking cancer; I just want a doctor whose at least _halfway_ smart to look over these." House pointed out rudely to Chase. "Now you just run along and go play with your needles and knives, and leave me alone to wait for daddy to show up. Don't worry, no matter what happens we'll always love you. None of this is your fault."

Chase studied him for a moment, wondering what had brought on this rare, unclassifiable mood. House didn't seem angry or any longer irritated, just eager for Wilson to show up for some reason or another. "What, did you take a few too many vicodin this morning? What could you possibly need Wilson for on this case? Why are you even still wasting time on it? Just wait for the autopsy results. That ought to tell us what went on."

House chose to ignore all of this, and after only a minute or so more, Chase just shrugged again and walked out. In the hallway, Wilson was just getting off the elevator. He looked a little disheveled and pissed off. Chase nodded to him. "Good morning. I wouldn't go in there if I were you."

"Why's that?"

"I think he wants to talk about Eddie. Waste of time if you ask me. Not that you wouldn't be helpful." he added. "It's just pointless to try and figure that mess out. We made so many mistakes with diagnosing him and guessing at treatments that it just seems wasteful. I say just wait on the autopsy."

Wishing more than ever that he hadn't picked up the phone forty five minutes ago, he gave Chase a slight smile and nodded. It was one of the very few opinions he had ever witnessed Chase having, so even if his presence wasn't really necessary to House, it hadn't been a complete waste of his time. "Thanks. But I have a feeling that this isn't completely about Eddie." At Chase's puzzled look, he added, "Ask Cameron."

"Oh." Wilson left him there at the elevator and walked down the hall. He doubted Chase would ask Cameron. Wilson had often observed him trying hard as possible not to get too involved with House and his hospital drama.

Seeing that the lights were off in the office, he walked in the conference room door instead to be greeted by an angry House. He stood immediately when Wilson walked in, going around to the other side of the table to glare directly at him. "What the hell took you so long? I talked to you almost an hour ago. You live fifteen minutes away."

Wilson didn't grace this rudeness with an answer. "Yes, good morning to you, too. My drive in was pleasant, not much traffic. But I guess that's because it's way too early for work. House, it's," glancing at the clock, "it's seven thirty. You know that I never get here before eight thirty. This had better be important." He walked over to get coffee, then turned to face House again. He was puzzled at the man's appearance; he had the usual circles under his eyes, but this morning they were accompanied by a tinge of red in his eyes, a gaunt look to his face, and more stubble than normal. But there was a kind of light burning behind his eyes, and Wilson knew that he was very anxious about something. "What's going on?" He asked, letting his annoyance at House be overcome by curiosity.

House walked back to the table, picking up one of Eddie's chest x-rays. "This." He shoved the film in Wilson's face, waiting for Wilson to see what he did. Skeptical, Wilson took the x-ray from House and held it up to the light, searching for whatever invisible incongruity that the other man was seeing. "Who is this?"

"Eddie."

Wilson took his eyes away from the x-ray for a moment to give House a look. "You mean your homeless guy? I thought he died yesterday. Why are you still looking at his stuff?"

"Curiosity." House lied.

Wilson looked back at the film, squinting, wondering what he was looking for. "I give up. What am I supposed to be seeing here?"

House gave him an incredulous look and threw his finger to a point on the right lung. "That." Wilson held the x-ray closer to his face, then shook his head. "Nope, I'm not seeing anything."

House gave an exasperated sigh. "Do you not see the nodule on the lobe of the lung?" He kept pointing, and Wilson looked back, closer, then almost laughed in House's face. He took the x-ray from him and rubbed at it for a second with his shirt sleeve. Holding it back up, he gave House a triumphant look. "Congratulations. You've diagnosed an x-ray tech's greasy fingers. Unless it's _your_ fingerprint, which would be significantly more amusing to me."

House said nothing, but looked at the nodule that Wilson had magically caused to disappear. Cursing, he took the film back and tossed it on the table before dropping heavily into one of the seats. "Damn."

Wilson tried to look, sympathetic, joining him at the table, but he couldn't quite manage it. House glared at him. "Definitely _not_ funny Wilson."

"I know. But do you know what else isn't funny? Waking me up an hour early to consult on a patient that's already dead. Emergencies are fine, but this? Don't do it again, or you'll end up like the boy who cried wolf."

House looked at Wilson, half amused and half pissed. "Are you seriously trying to teach me a lesson using a fable? The boy who cried wolf?"

Wilson smiled. "Well, you could definitely benefit from the advice in those stories." A look of mock disgust came over House's face. "Advice? You mean all that moral crap they're supposed to teach about? No thanks. I'll stick to counting on shows like The O.C. to teach me morals."

"I bet that'll be successful." Wilson offered sarcastically, rolling his eyes. They fell into silence, each sipping on their coffee and enjoying the chance for just sitting around before they had to get to the business of being doctors.

Curious, and recalling Cameron's comments about House the previous evening, Wilson asked him, "Why are you still spending time on Eddie's case? The autopsy results should be in in a day or two. Can't you wait?"

"No." House answered tensely, and Wilson could already tell that Cameron had been right about something.

"Okay." He stood and stretched, downing the rest of his coffee and putting the mug in the sink for someone else to wash. It wasn't his place to understand House's impatience. So far, he hadn't displayed any concerning emotions, so Wilson wasn't feeling obliged to talk with him about what Cameron had said at the moment. He opened the door. "If you want any more fingerprint consults, give me a yell. I'll keep my pager on, just in case."

House scowled at him, and probably said something obscene and rude, but Wilson had already let the door shut, and he didn't hear it. House sat alone at the table, back where e had started and completely frustrated. When he had noticed the smudge on the x-ray, he had jumped at it, so eager for it to be a lead that he hadn't noticed. He should have known. None of Eddie's symptoms pointed to anything near cancer, and Foreman had already confirmed that the films were all clear. House sighed and leaned the chair back, closing his eyes for a moment. He wondered if his judgment was off because of his lack of sleep. It wasn't as though he had never stayed up all night before; he did it all the time. Shaking his head and opening his eyes, he returned his attention back to Eddie's file, letting his mind become completely absorbed in it. Nine o'clock rolled around and the clinic opened, sans Dr. House. Whether that was because he was just too busy or he didn't want to be there was unknown.

TBC

So I hope no one noticed the way Wilson "didn't feel obliged to talk with House about what Cameron had pointed out". I seriously doubt that Jimmy felt that way, however, the author didn't "feel obliged to go into it" because she was getting lazy and tired, and rather than just finish this tomorrow, she really, really wanted to update her story. That conversation could have taken a whole half hour to write, and that's just too damn long. What the hell is Wilson going to say anyway? Who knows. Anyway, thanks for reading. Once again, suggestions are always welcome, and the jello is on me again. Oh, and I gotta give props to Al Green for his Love and Happiness…it makes sitting up 'til 3:30am in the stairwell all worth while. I'm gonna dance my way back down to my floor now. Thanks again. R & R.

-A. D.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

It was late afternoon, and the sun created playful shadows all across the floor of PPTH's cafeteria. Too late for lunch, and too early for dinner, the cafeteria was relatively empty. A single table in the middle of the room was occupied by three doctors, deep in discussion over their coffee, stale cafeteria bagels, and one perfectly sliced apple, which was already turning brown while Cameron forgot about it and voiced her concerns to Chase and Foreman.

"Have you been in there lately? It's a mess, and he's obsessing over this." Her concern was so intense that it almost sounded angry, and Foreman's reaction didn't help to alleviate any of it.

"So what? What else is he gonna do? You can't tell me that you aren't just as curious." He was tilting his chair back, idly sipping at the coffee that had cooled off over an hour ago, tossing Cameron's concerns aside for the millionth time that day. House's recent crusade for the truth didn't seem any more obsessive to him than the man's usual persistent search for answers. The only difference was that Eddie was dead, and House usually tended to concentrate on the living.

"C'mon, wake up Foreman. I know just as well as you that the guy doesn't lose all that many patients, but have you ever seen him so tied up over even one of those deaths like he is with Eddie? It's crazy!"

Chase smiled. "Well, we are talking about House, so the craziness is just a given, right?" Foreman smiled also, and nodded in agreement. Personally, Chase was beginning to agree with Cameron, but he wasn't ready yet to start flipping on sirens and trying to "save" him. He'd seen House fixate on patients and their illnesses before, like Foreman, and while it was slightly disturbing, it just didn't warrant that much concern from him yet.

Cameron gave the boys a look that suggested she felt betrayed by them both, and was frankly quite disgusted with them. But she continued to argue her point. "You guys saw him with Eddie. When have you ever seen him act that way towards a patient before? Never. He thinks it's a waste of time to see patients face to face because "everybody lies", or whatever. But he came down and talked to Eddie everyday that the poor guy was here. It was…scary." She finished, for lack of a better word.

Foreman leaned forward, all business, ready to put the subject to rest once and for all. "Look, we all know House can be a little…_fanatical,_ at times. He's a passionate guy. It's what makes him such a great doctor. Why should we care if he wants to waste a day trying to solve his little puzzle? It keeps him from bothering us, and that's just fine with me." Cameron opened her mouth to disagree, but Foreman went on. "Eddie was a nice guy. House took a liking to him, so maybe he just figures that someone needs to give a damn about a homeless guy dying."

Chase raised his eyebrows dubiously. "Right." he said, the word dripping with sarcasm. "That's House, always doing the good and noble thing. C'mon Foreman, even _I_ know that's a load of crap. House has never cared about anybody in his entire life.-

"Yes he has!" Cameron angrily interjected.

"-He's not about to start caring now. Cameron's right. There's something else going on with him. He was just acting plain weird about it this morning."

Foreman rolled his eyes and groaned. "Wow. You're right. House is acting_ weird,_ so there's definitely something wrong." He shook his head at his colleagues. "House will always and forever be strange, and he's always going to find something to obsess and be anal about. Everyone does. I mean, look at you Cameron. House does something unexpected, and you spend the entire day _obsessing _over it. It's really not that serious."

"Yet." She answered ominously. "You two didn't see him yesterday."

They were both silent, looking at Cameron expectantly. Foreman was sure it would be something trivial and not all that interesting. But Chase listened on curiously.

"I went down to the office, and he blew up in my face and started yelling about how he "killed Eddie". It was a little scary. He didn't seem able to understand that the three of us played any part in Eddie's treatments."

"So? He's our boss. In the end, he's going to take responsibility for anything that happens." Foreman just didn't see what was so concerning about all of this. To him, it was just House being House.

"No he wouldn't." Chase spoke up. "I think House is always more than happy to blame any one of us for things, if they're our fault."

Cameron was about to add something to that, growing more confident that Chase was on her side and was beginning to see what she was seeing. But she didn't. Looking behind Foreman, she nodded in the direction of the cafeteria line, where House was paying for coffee. Foreman turned around to look, and a sly smile stole over his features. "Why don't we just ask House? It'll sure beat sitting around debating this all afternoon."

Cameron shot him an angry look that said "don't", but was silent as House came over to the table.

"What's this, a group of federal employees?" He looked down at his watch. "Isn't somebody supposed to be leaving now to go cover my clinic duty?" He looked around at their faces, and they in turn looked at one another. Looking very confident, Foreman asked, "Why can't you do it?"

House gave him a look that was half annoyed and half mock incredulous. "Me? Are you serious? I'm a busy doc. Can't spend my days wiping runny noses and telling teens they're pregnant. My brain is far too valuable to be used on something like that."

No one offered him any response to this, so he gave them a grin that was definitely hyped up with too much caffeine. "So. Any takers?"

Foreman and Chase both instinctively looked at Cameron, who continued to glare at them. House shrugged and closed his eyes, trying to decide who he felt like punishing. At the moment, he was still feeling put out with Cameron, but he didn't want to send her away just yet. If she was still angry with him, he wanted her to be around to finish the argument. "Okay. Your enthusiasm is appreciated." Snapping his eyes back open, he nodded at Chase. "Chase, you've got patients waiting downstairs." Chase opened his mouth to object, but House cut him off. "I know, don't thank me. It's the least I can do for you." Giving him a fake optimistic, encouraging, life coach kind of look, he added, "Go get 'em Sparky."

His jaw tightening, Chase bit back a remark and gathered up his tray, mumbling something about House being a jackass as he walked off. House gave the two remaining doctors an ornery grin and took the now empty seat. Foreman exchanged a look with Cameron, and they both waited for House to speak, which he did after stirring a ridiculous amount of sugar into his coffee.

"So." He looked them both over suspiciously. "Now that Chase is gone, us grownups can talk. What's new?" he joked, looking from Foreman to Cameron and back to Foreman again. They were both suddenly subdued, Cameron because she felt guilty about discussing House behind his back, and Foreman because he was beginning to notice the tell-tale signs of fatigue and stress on House's face. He hadn't seen him much that morning. House had been completely buried in charts and books when Foreman had arrived. He'd said good morning, only for House to nod vaguely, too absorbed in his work to give any kind of coherent response. Foreman had shrugged it off and left to go about his day's duties. But now, with House's attention trained on them, he could clearly see that he had been working hard to figure out Eddie's death. His constant five o'clock shadow was darker than usual, and his voice sounded hoarse and strained. And this didn't even take into account his eyes, which had taken on that haunted look that Foreman had only witnessed in House when his leg pains were unbearable. But House's leg didn't appear to be giving him any trouble, so Foreman had to silently concede to Cameron that there was indeed something wrong with this picture.

Cameron tried a tentative smile, and timidly asked, "Are you having any luck with Eddie's case?"

House looked at her as though this was the last thing on his mind and shook his head. "Nope. I'm nowhere with it. With any luck, the autopsy results will be in by the end of the day." He stared vacantly at the floor, his mind going over the charts that had become burned onto his brain over the last twelve hours. He had decided to take a break, thinking maybe a short walk around the hospital and some coffee would clear his head a little. All of the information about Eddie that he had been studying had started to blur together, making it all relatively useless. He figured he would hide in Wilson's office for an hour or so and play his Nintendo DS, then head back to his office and back to work. His thoughts were interrupted by Cameron's question.

"Why can't you just wait on the results?"

House frowned. "I am."

Exasperated, Cameron rephrased her question. "I mean, why keep stressing yourself over the file when you could just go down to the clinic or somewhere and wait for the autopsy results?"

House looked as though this thought hadn't occurred to him, but shook his head. "Nah. I hate clinic duty." Cameron looked at him in relative disbelief. "So you're just doing this to get out of clinic duty?"

"What?" House asked, remembering his earlier argument with the girl. "Were you _actually_ thinking that I give a damn about a patient? _Of course_ I'm doing this to avoid the clinic" he scowled at her, then stood abruptly, taking his coffee, and hastily exited the conversation and the cafeteria. They watched him walk off, his mind already back on Eddie, eager to get back and seeming to have forgotten his self-prescribed break. Cameron turned back to Foreman, waiting. Grudgingly, he nodded and shrugged. "Okay. So maybe you're right."

"You think?" she asked irately.

Foreman frowned, finishing his now completely cold coffee and standing. "I'm not sure it's anything as big as you're talking about, but House is definitely worth keeping an eye on."

This seemed to satisfy Cameron, and she nodded appreciatively. Foreman checked his watch, giving her a small wave. "Gotta go. See ya." She smiled back at him, and he walked off, thinking about House and wondering what could possibly be so intriguing about Eddie to him. He didn't understand, and as he walked towards the elevators, he had to remind himself that the workings of House's mind were something that nobody was likely to ever understand.

TBC.

A million thanks to the folks who commented on the first three chapters. You guys mean the world to me. I'm thinking that I need to spring for something a little tastier than jello this time, like kool-aid, or perhaps some chicken.

Note: if eddie died on, hmm…let's say he died on monday, and house woke up at 7 am that morning, how many hours has he been up now? and what time/day will it be when the 76th hour comes around? i is one _turrible_ mathematician, need helps wit dis maf (math).


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

As House walked away from the table and out of the cafeteria, he felt for a fleeting second as though something was very, very wrong. Turning around, he looked back to see Foreman standing to leave, giving Cameron a small wave; nothing amiss there. House waited, watching Foreman go out of the cafeteria through another door. Staring at Cameron, alone at the table, he tried to get his weary mind around what had disturbed him so much. Cameron was still sitting there, unenthusiastically nibbling at the browning slices of an apple, looking quite as normal as she ever did. Then he noticed. She was wearing the crimson blouse, with her black skirt and pumps. Her lab coat had been hung neatly on the back of her chair, making the blouse all too noticeable to House. He thought for a moment that someone, him, needed to go back and tell her to change. His previous night's walk came back to him all to quickly, the trees and the changing fall leaves, his thoughts of Cameron's red blouse and dying Eddie.

Shaking his head, he turned to leave. He hadn't thought about last night all day, and there was no reason that he should start now. But his memory blasted into action, recalling every detail of the evening, bringing the sick feeling back into his stomach when he had considered the notion of suicide. _I do NOT want to die _he silently screamed at his brain._ Shut up and stop thinking crazy thoughts. Go back to your office and forget about it. _House seemed to walk quicker, as if he could possibly outrun and escape from his own mind. The elevator ride was too long, and again, the upbeat music mocked him as it had the day before. Nervous and badly in need of sleep, his mind raced, jumping from one thought to the next at light speed as he tried to concentrate on anything other than himself.

Finally, feeling as though he had just run a marathon, House made it to his office. He pushed open the doors with unnecessary force, and stood for a moment in the middle of the room. The desk was covered with books, books that he had pulled off their shelves that morning in a wild search for the answers he was telling himself he needed so badly. The long table in the annex was also overflowing with materials, and at the moment, House couldn't help but think to himself that it represented his own racing mind, too many things to hold onto and keep up with. Standing completely still, he breathed in deeply, willing his momentary feeling of panic and self-repulsion to go away. He made his way shakily to his desk and sat down. Pushing papers this way and that, he found his vicodin and gratefully swallowed a pill more out of habit than for the purpose of relieving his pain, feeling the vital need to be doing something familiar. He sat back and waited. For what, he wasn't sure.

_You're in denial, you jerk._ House rolled his eyes, growing more fed up by the minute by his own conscience.

"And you're an asshole." he said aloud. For a few moments more, he simply sat there, breathing in and out and trying not to think about or feel anything. But it was impossible for House not to feel anything right now. There was an unmistakable anger building inside of him, and after musing over it for a moment, he realized that it was because of Cameron.

She had worn the crimson blouse, the same one House had thought of the first time he had seen the trees. Before he had gone to the park and allowed himself to feel sorry for himself. He had been reminded of her when he had been secure about his happiness and not felt the need for anything more than he already had. The second time he saw the trees, he had already exposed himself to the fact that he just might not be happy with the way his life was turning out. Twisting himself around in the chair, he looked out the window at the parking lot and the massive oaks that lay beyond. At that moment, he would have given anything to look at them and not be reminded of Eddie. He was mad, House realized, because he no longer had the ability to think of Cameron, or anything really, and feel normal.

House rubbed at his burning eyes, returning the chair to its regular position facing the desk. He was confused at his own emotions, growing dizzy with all of his own twisted explanations of them. Cameron. Red blouse. Trees. Park. Eddie. It didn't make any sense to him. And he was too tired to think anymore about it. He pulled the bottom desk drawer open to reveal his stash of Jack Daniels and an assortment of glasses. Choosing one, he poured himself a much needed drink and downed it. He was in the process of pouring the next one when he looked down at something on his desk which hadn't been there earlier. A manila file folder, the contents of which House already knew. Quickly drinking that shot, he grabbed the folder and pulled out the papers within. He didn't bother to read all of the preliminary proceedings, but turned right to the last past. Wildly, House scanned it until he came to what he was looking for, a single line at the bottom of the page. It was not what he had wanted to hear.

CAUSE OF DEATH: UNDETERMINED

House stared at it for a full minute. How could that be? They had done the full workup that he had requested on the body, and still the cause of Eddie's death remained unknown. Wilson had told him to wait on the report, and here it was, refusing to yield any of the answers that House needed so desperately to know. Unexpectedly and furiously, House jumped to his feet and hurled the file with all of his strength across the room. It slammed clumsily with all the grace of a drunk pigeon into the blinds, causing them to clatter and bend the wrong way and go into a state of general disarray. It hadn't made him feel any better, so he poured himself another shot and sat bitterly staring at the autopsy report where it lay on the floor. He decided then that it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair for Eddie, who had been a junkie but relatively nice. It wasn't fair to Cameron, Chase and Foreman, who had all worked so hard to save him. And it wasn't fair to House, who had searched so arduously for answers. A full twenty four hours later, and no one knew what had killed one of the simplest, happiest men on the planet.

On his fourth drink, House mused to himself about the irony that might be found in all of this. If he, a miserable, bitter old cripple died, the cause would probably be obvious. That's just how the world worked. God made all things worthwhile. No one would ever want to spend time finding out why the miserable guy was dead, so God would make it obvious so that no one would have to do work that they didn't want to. But everyone would have to work a little harder for the nice guy, because he was really worth the effort, and they all wanted to know. If this was the case, House thought, the alcohol slowly wasting his mind, then Eddie must have been the nicest guy ever.

_And you didn't even like him. What does that say about you?_

By now, House knew that this stubborn and annoying little voice in his head only voiced his own worst opinions and fears. But he was just as stubborn as it was, and he could ignore it forever if he had to. Not particularly liking Eddie didn't mean anything. House didn't _particularly_ like anyone. He filled his glass again, the level in the bottle significantly less than it had been ten minutes ago. He downed the shot and decided to put the whiskey away. It was time for him to rest now. It had been far too long since he had closed his eyes and slept, and he was beginning to accept the fact that the cause of Eddie's death might never be known, and he didn't intend to look for it anymore.

"I'm gonna advocate for the mean guys from now on…" he mumbled, his voice slurred with drunkenness and sleepiness. "Yup, when us mean guys die, I'll look out for us. I'm done with the nice guys…"

_C''mon, you know you "mean guys" aren't going to need anyone. It'll be obvious, especially in your case; suicide is, after all, easy to diagnose…_

House sat bolt upright in his seat. "I am happy!" He yelled. "No one here is offing themselves anytime soon!" He waited for it to argue with him, but he seemed to have gotten his point across to it, and his mind was filled once more with silence. House was content with his life. The bottom line was that he wanted to live and that was that.

_What are you talking about?_

This time he stood up, frightened and furious at the same time. He knew it was only in his head, but he was completely stumped as to why he should be so conflicted over this. He-

"I said, what are you talking about?" Cameron came through the conference room door, looking strangely at House. He hadn't even heard her enter the other room, and immediately, he wondered how much she had heard. When he didn't answer, but only stared dumbly at her, that familiar concerned look came over her face.

"House, are you okay?" She took as step towards him and considered reaching out to put a hand on his arm, but thought better of it.

Suddenly, he switched back into House mode, scowling and nodding, yes he was okay. He leaned towards her, giving her a stern expression. "The last time we were in here and you asked me that, didn't it go rather badly?"

Cameron looked down, and he was surprised to see that she looked guilty. "About that." She looked back up at him and met his eyes. "I'm sorry if something that I said upset you. I didn't think you would react like that. Obviously, Eddie's death had a greater meaning to you than I thought. I'm sorry." She said the words with a sincerity that she had never before directed at House, and it made him uncomfortable. He didn't give any indication that he had accepted, but merely chose to ignore her apology all together. Instead, he looked at the coffee cup that she held lightly in her delicate hands. Taking it from her, he ignored her sudden look of confusion and sniffed at it. It was cold, brought back from the cafeteria. House took a gulp and pulled a face.

"Yuck. Cold." And with that remark, he did the one thing that he truly wanted to do. He flung the remainder of the coffee at Cameron, soaking her blouse with the cold, dark liquid.

Needless to say, the look on Cameron's face was somewhere between horrified and furious. She looked down, shocked, then recovered enough to yell, "What in the _hell _is your problem?"

House grinned and shrugged apologetically. "Oops." He didn't see the hand pull back and slap him full in the face, and to tell the truth, drunk as he was, he didn't really even feel it, or at least not until later.

"You bastard." Her voice was low and menacing, but House could only shake off the slap and shrug nonchalantly again. "What can I say? I _hate_ that blouse."

Cameron looked incredulous, then leaned forward to sniff at something she had thought she smelled upon entering the room. "You're drunk." she stated disgustedly.

House smiled, picking up his cane and walking out of the room. "The blouse is ugly. Go change." He left her standing there, fuming and angry, yet now tremendously more concerned about House than she had been before.

TBC.

Well kids, thanks for reading. And as usual, my sincere thanks to everyone who has so graciously taken the time to comment on previous chapters. You mean the world to me.

The general consensus seems to be that hr. 76 will be 11am on Thursday. I suppose I should have done the math before I wrote the review, but that would have just been too proactive on my part. So I'll try to get another chapter done soon; I know the last 2 have been short, so I'll try to put a little more time into the next one. Thanks.

-A.D.


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